Everesting for Equity Recap: Harnessing the Power of Community
When the idea of Everesting for Equity was born, I was nervous. Nervous about the reception of an initiative rooted in conversations about race and inequality. Nervous about my own ability to rise to the challenge. My nerves about how the fundraising effort would be received were quickly, and overwhelmingly, allayed as support from teammates, friends, friends of friends, and others in the cycling community and beyond helped far outstrip what modest goals I had for success. All that was left for me to do was earn that support.
So, in the early hours of Saturday, June 20, 2020, I set out on the most daunting bike ride of my life in support of a cause far greater than myself.
Photos by Scott Rettino (@wheresscott) unless otherwise attributed.
Preparation
I spent much of the week leading up to that Saturday morning sorting out the details of my ride and then promptly second-guessing everything. I rode various iterations of Alpine Hill, ultimately settling on a shorter stretch of the hill with a more consistent gradient and smoother turnaround point. I spoke with our team coach, Jacob Fetty, about pacing strategies and nutrition; he sagely advised me to consider using as much real food as possible (but no bagels) to fuel the effort. I pre-rode the hill. I rode it again. I cleaned my bike and swapped in new tires with latex tubes (in the absence of racing, I might as well use them for something). I charged everything (bike computer, derailleur batteries, bike lights), twice. I packed my car like I was heading to a stage race. I shaved my legs. I barely slept. I was ready.
Setting Forth
Saturday morning involved a wake up typically reserved for Prospect Park and CRCA races, and my body was very out of practice for this. One strong cup of coffee and quick kit up and I was on my way to New Jersey to begin a day of climbing. The importance of community support was immediately apparent as I discussed bottle and food hand ups in a dark dirt parking lot with teammates Sasha and Liz at 4am. The more I think back to that day, the more I realize that it would not have been possible without the support of many.
Shortly after 4am, it was time to start. Well, almost. Technically, the road (Henry Hudson Parkway aka River Road) and climb are not open until dawn. It was not dawn, and a police officer appeared to let me know that fact. After a few minutes of discussion, probably aided by me shining a bright headlight in his face while telling him what I was there for, he begrudgingly allowed me to get started “as long as this [didn’t] become a habit.” So, computer started and lights on, I descended into complete darkness to begin the first of many climbs.
Descending in the dark, even on a hill I knew well, was a challenge. Moths, it seems, love bright bike lights, and swatting them out of my face while trying to spot loose rocks on the road was not confidence-inspiring. Once I made it down the descent and through the traffic circle that I would round many times that day, I was onto the first climb. Words scrawled in chalk on the road surface started to pop out of the darkness as I ascended the hill. Community strikes again. I learned later that local legend Keith had come out the day before and spent hours chalking messages of support, and welcome distractions, on the roadway. I would come to learn those words well across the course of the day.
Dawn crept in roughly an hour, and 6 or 7 climbs, after I started. Far from the first sunrise I’ve witnessed while riding my bike, but there are precious few words for how uplifting those first few rays of the day streaking through the gaps in the trees were. The breaking dawn was also useful, as I took the opportunity to step off my bike and “lighten my load” off the side of the road (Liz says I climbed faster after that).
I rode on for another hour and a half after sunrise before stopping for a break around 18 climbs. These breaks would prove invaluable as the day wore on, giving me a chance to stretch a bit, eat real food (overnight oats for the morning) and talk hydration with my support team, which by that point included the former directeur sportif and coach of the Columbia University Cycling team, Rob. More community.
Getting in the groove
That first riding session and break set the strategy for the day. Ride for between two and two and a half hours, stop to eat, stretch a bit, discuss any important details with my rotating support team, re-apply chamois cream, re-lube my chain, and set off again. I also settled into what would become my pace for the day; I was not out to set any records for Everesting, nor was I certain I would even survive, so I aimed for an endurance effort and secretly wished I had installed a slightly easier cassette as the day wore on.
In all my thinking and planning heading into the ride, one thing I did not consider was how fast you can descend a hill when you get to know it. And, after descending Alpine in the dark and many dozens of times that morning, I got to know it very, very well. There was a sweet spot of time in the morning, before the cars came to deliver people to the boat basin at the very bottom of the hill, when I was able to rip down the hill faster than I ever have, with only the pleasant buzz from my freehub alerting the animals that I was coming through on business (RIP to that one chipmunk that didn’t quite get the memo). It was fun. It also probably saved me a lot of time overall as I learned that every little thing adds up over one hundred repeats of the same climb. As the car traffic grew throughout the day, my descending speed dropped and my frustration levels grew, but I will always have that morning.
Community struck again that morning (and throughout the rest of the day) as riders started showing up to take on a few laps with me. Cyclists I knew well, cyclists from local teams, cyclists who heard about the ride and the cause, cyclists who read the scribbles on the road and wanted to take part. The cycling community came out in a big way. Funnily, as one teammate pointed out in the afternoon, I probably had the same conversation dozens of times that day, but I mostly did not mind. It was a welcome distraction from the repetition and building fatigue of the ride.
My longest break of the day occurred right around lunchtime after I completed 51 climbs and needed a break from the intensity of the midday sun. I sat in the grass under a tree for a bit with a sandwich in one hand and a non-alcoholic beer in the other and contemplated how far I had come and how far I still had to go.
Crossing the halfway point was a big mental load off, but it also meant a quick assessment of how much longer I’d likely be riding versus the amount of daylight remaining. I realized that I would probably have to shorten my breaks going forward in hopes of finishing the ride before the sun went down. After a bit of stretching, I was ready to get back after it and headed back down the hill to start climb 52. Around which point, Lucia had a run-in with the police for decorating the pavement with a chalk “Black Lives Matter” message that offended a passing cyclist enough to report her to the officers nearby. (They have since painted over the chalk…)
Dark Places and Resurrection
The afternoon largely followed the script of the morning: ride for a couple of hours, take a break, eat what I can, and hydrate constantly. I was fairly well locked into the effort at that point and ready to ride on until I hit the necessary 29,029 feet of climbing. Then, darkness struck. At around climb 80, I felt a shift in my mood and a crushing thought that I might not have it in me to keep going. At the same time, my chain let out a death squeak of displeasure due to my negligence in remembering to re-apply lube at the break I had taken an hour or so before. I had originally planned to ride 4 or 5 more laps before taking a break, but all I wanted to do at that point was get off my bike. This was truly a dark place, my innermost cave.
That break was longer than I had planned (but apparently still short, I’m told). I stretched a bit, ate a bit, drank a bit, lubed the hell out of my chain, and begrudgingly climbed back on my bike to complete the last 20 climbs of the day. Twenty. I was doubtful I’d make it through five more at that point.
The legs were willing, but the mind was weak. I bargained with myself. “Ride five more, and if you feel up to it, two more. Then, you can take a break.” Though I did not speak much to them during those laps, having other riders along for a few of those climbs was a much-needed mental support.
My mood lifted a bit as I neared my 90th climb of the day and I could tell the end was in sight. The sun started to dip, offering welcome relief from the built-up heat of the day, and the car traffic abated, allowing me to settle into the rhythm needed to power on towards finishing the effort.
Amazingly, I’m told that my form stayed relatively consistent throughout the entirety of the day. I kept waiting for crushing fatigue, cramping, or back pain to set in, but it never came. It’s as if my body decided the cause was important enough to cooperate that day.
My memory of the last few laps is a bit hazy, but I knew when I was on lap 100 and was ready to wrap it up. I spent much of that final climb watching the elevation gain on my computer slowly creep up towards the magic number, and, once I hit 29,029 feet, I ruthlessly attacked the last minute or so of the climb, dropping Sasha and Lucia, who had come along for the final trip, in the process.
I was happy: this was probably the most important bike ride of my life and I succeeded. I was tired: this ride took, literally, every drop of sunlight the day could offer. I had Everested.
Everesting By The Numbers
Total funds raised: $12,000+
Total feet climbed: 29,131
Total time: 16 hours 2 minutes (14:35 moving time)
Total Laps/Climbs: 100
Combined Laps Ridden by Supporters: At least 100 (but very likely double that amount)
Different Types of Hydration: 5 (not including my hastily consumed cup of coffee at 3am)
Pairs of Bib Shorts: 1 (made possible by copious amounts of chamois cream)
A Few Thank Yous
There are still not enough words to fully express my thanks to all those who helped make this initiative and this ride a reality. To all those who spread the word and donated to the various organizations, thank you. Your support means the world to me and is hopefully able to do a little good in the Black community. The work is obviously not done, but this helps. To all those who gave advice beforehand, came out to ride along, cheer from the side of the road, and hand up bottles and food, thank you. (I mean, even Burati crossed the river for this.) I could not have made it through without your support throughout the day.
I am a New York City based cyclist who hasn’t found a way to quit the sport in the 10+ years since I moved to the East Coast from the Midwest. Former, and occasional, runner, full-time high school teacher, bourbon and cat aficionado.
Instagram (especially if you love cats): @myvelolife
